Crimson Cradle
by Galad Estel
Summary: Niënor will do anything to stop her family's curse.


You are too beautiful for the world, you whisper. You mean it as praise, but I shiver. I never asked to be. Your hand on my waist is firm yet chillingly gentle, like the thoughts on the edge of my consciousness. Thoughts I cannot see, but I know are there.

My eyes, a torrential thunderstorm, cry when you are gone, and the women gather round me and ask if I remember. Remember what? I see the gold eyes, the black eyes, coming, coming for my head, to swallow me up, until I am empty.

Just a bad dream, they say, and pat my hair. They are strangers but call me sister and sing me songs. I remember falling once from a tree, no one was there to catch me or watch me crash. I do not tell them. Maybe it was a nightmare too.

Everyone is kind to me. I think I was lonely before I came here. I do not know why. The women speak when I am sleeping. They make up dreadful pasts that must be locked away. They wonder what I went through to make me forget. But maybe I just hit my head.

I want to know. Who I was. Who I am. She's the ghost of Finduilas, some say. Their lips flutter near friends' ears, but I hear them anyhow and ponder. I do not know what a ghost is or Finduilas – such a pretty word. Is it a place or a person? I ask you, but you turn your head away, your cheek a waterfall. I do not ask again.

You are content with today and tomorrow. You smile at me and touch me and tell me the world is ours. The world I am not meant for is mine. You make little sense however much I love you. I looked for you in a field of grain. I got lost, looking. Another dream.

I learn fast. The alphabet, the name of everything. Like a child, and yet unlike a child, they say. When we met, I did not have a name so you gave me one, _Níniel_. I shook my head when you said it, but I repeated the word, 'Níniel,' because it was a lovely sound. You took this as agreement. Now forever I shall be the 'Maid of Tears.'

I am starting to cry less though, and I no longer cling to you, because I know you will come again after you leave me. I do not fear like I used to, the night and the lonely rain. The wind will not eat me, and the trees will not cut me to bits. The sun is not the eye of a great serpent. It is not looking for me. It is too high, too high to care.

It seems forever before I learn your name. You do not tell until I ask, and then the name you give seems as mysterious as no name. Turambar, Master of the Doom. You have escaped shadows and found me. I am your light, you say. But my mind is a fog, my thoughts darkness.

You wish to wed me. You say it low, you say it soft against my throat, as if you do not want the world to hear you. I leave you in the twilight to think. To be wed is to be bound to you forever, like a chained hound. If I say 'yes' my belly will soon be burdened with a babe. I will grow big, swell like a beaten face. It will be harder to act if peril comes again, to flee or to fight.

I know very little about myself, but this I know. I hate to be vulnerable. I was told over and over not to be weak, to have courage and pride. Who told me this? The voice was like yours, only a little less low. I ask the women about it. They smile. They say, perhaps we met before in dreams. They think it romantic. Everything is dreams. Nothing is my own.

The women say marrying is a brave thing. Bringing forth life in a land wreathed in death. Bringing forth killers. Babes are deadly. They may slay you coming into the world. They will kill others afterwards, have more killers, and be killed. So is the cycle. Death spirals into life, the grave lies near the birthing stool. But marriage is a beautiful thing, rooted in love.

I do love you, am elated that you love me. I want you, do not want to lose you. You are water to me. I soak in your words, your joy. They say you did not smile before I came. They say you were grim but now you are gentle.

I turn to Brandir for advice. He has become like a brother to me, and he is wise. Your proposal makes him quiet. He trembles and asks me to wait, to think things through. What is there to think of? I have no family, no prospect but you. What is there to wait for?

But I wait. I wait until you threaten me with eternal separation. I wait until you say, 'We wed, or I go to war.' Then I say, 'yes,' and you embrace me. You cover my eyes in kisses and lift me into the air. I am light, light like a bird. High up with the sun, and the serpent cannot catch me. He cannot fly.

The sun shines through the droplets, making color in the sky. Glaurung has come, your great enemy, a shadow you fled from, but this time you will fight. Hopelessly, I beg you to stay. I carry your child in me and want you to be near me, to see me through the end, through my battle, but you choose yours. 'Níniel, you must be brave,' you say in the voice of a dream. I say, 'I want to stay with you, if you go, I go.' But you say, 'No,' and touch my stomach. You turn away, and again I am empty, left with only a few months' memories.

Waiting happens again, and I hate it. The never knowing what is happening, or what will happen. Is this the minute you die? Or is this? Or did it happen an hour ago, next week? There is no word, and finally, I can stand it no longer. Maybe I am a mother, but I am your wife as well. Against counsel, I seek out your footsteps and walk down the road of death with my head held high. Brandir follows me, limping. He looks after me like a brother would, tenderly protecting me though his leg is lame. I ask him to go back, but it is useless. We come to you.

You are stretched across the hill. Your face is whiter than rock, and your hand is as withered as the grass about you. I rip my dress to wrap your hand, though I know you are dead.

I knew you would be. From the moment you said Glaurung, you were doomed. The name was like thunder in my mind, and its shake has not left me. I weep over your fallen body, and the serpent lifts his head. His voice is like a frozen river, breaking in the spring. He calls me by my real name, ' _Niënor_.' Thoughts I have lost rush to my mind, and you are my brother, my dead brother. 'The worst of all his deeds you shall feel in yourself,' the dragon says.

I touch my belly. It holds our babe, and now I see the future as well as the past. This babe will bring great sorrow to the world. Men will tremble before it, and women will weep. We are cursed, forever cursed. You, me, every generation after, until we end. Until I end. I hear the river, and I run to meet it. Only I can stop the curse. My body will meet the water and burst, blood and tears will salt the sea. Our child's own crimson cradle.


End file.
